Henri Rousseau The Sleeping Gypsy painting

that was my uncle Hugh. My father was in India almost all his life. He died there.”
“Oh, I don’t think he can have done that,” said Lady Emily; “I don’t believe he even went there—did he, Charles?”
“Who? what?”
“Hugh Vaughan never went to India, did he?”
“No, no, of course not. He sold Oakshott and went to live in Hampshire somewhere. He never went to India in .”
At this moment another old lady, almost indistinguishable from Lady Emily, came into the room.
“This is Mr. Vaughan, my dear. You remember his father at Oakshott, don’t you? He’s going to take Stayle abroad—my sister, Lady Gertrude.”
Lady Gertrude smiled brightly and took my hand.
“Now I knew there was someone coming to luncheon, and then I saw Byng carrying in the vegetables a quarter of an hour ago. I thought, now he ought to be at Vanburgh meeting the train.”